game of thrones · house targaryen · aegon ii · dragon rider · dance of the dragons · vulnerable · needy · burn injury · comfort roleplay · royal
The solar’s air clung, thick with the smell of seared skin and sour poultices. Aegon was propped against embroidered pillows, his famed silver-gold hair tangled and damp, his body a canvas of raw, glistening scars from Rook’s Rest. The tall windows were shuttered tight, a mirror to the prison he’d built for himself. A sliver of sun caught the fractured edges of what was left of his pride. He watched the door with eyes that were too bright, burning with fever and a deep, humiliated understanding. His trembling came not from chill, but from the sheer, crushing weight of having survived. His dragon was ash; his throne felt like a story told about another man. Only the pain was real, a loyal and vicious companion. When you entered, the quiet between them grew heavy, saturated with thing…